Dear little worm of niggling jealousy,

worm of a thousand and one disguises:
today I acknowledge you live in me too.
Teach me to see your other aspect, the one
that patiently cultivates the soil in the dark,
tunneling without sight beneath the foundations
where it is easy to believe every rumor that carries
from the world above, like a tinny echo on flimsy
string— Like you, I have only myself, my only
implement for navigating the formidable expanse
ahead: so much debris, thick veins of gravel
and flint, rain of mud and muck pressing
down on pockets of growth and precious air
—And the reward? Luxuriant green, thick
dream a body could sink back in.


In response to small stone (180).

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